LEBANON, Pa. — Narrow evergreens tower over the split-level house, lining the long driveway. Arborvitae, they are called. There are 145 of them, and not one has a branch out of place.

When Mark Gastineau and his wife came to see this property for the first time a few years ago, he stopped at the trees that are the color of the uniform he once wore. The realtor told them to come inside and look around, but Gastineau didn’t need to go inside. All he needed to see were the trees.

“They’re the most beautiful trees in the world,” he says. “I love them.”

Gastineau was one of the most accomplished pass rushers in NFL history. But more than that, he was a star. After games ended and his teammates left, he sometimes stayed on the Shea Stadium field so he could feel the crowd’s roar in his chest. He sat on talk show couches for David Letterman, Oprah and Dick Cavett. He won the 1985 “Superstars” competition in Miami and was featured in a six-page spread for “Playgirl” magazine titled, “Mark Gastineau: Out of Uniform.”

Gastineau still is the kind of person who turns heads at the grocery store, with thick black hair slicked back into a mullet that would stick out from the back of a helmet if he still wore one. But he’s 67 now, living with the reverberations of the life he led.

Like many of yesterday’s football heroes, Gastineau has cognitive issues. Headaches come and go, and he tires more quickly than before. At one point he thought he had Parkinson’s, but he says two neurologists have ruled that out.

Gastineau survived Stage 3 colon cancer in 2019 — he wore a colostomy bag for a year — but the chemo left him with neuropathy. If offered, he’ll take a hand when getting out of a chair.

As he gazes out at his Arborvitae, what’s certain is Mark Gastineau isn’t Mark Gastineau anymore.

In his dreams, he was a rodeo cowboy, but as a child growing up on his family’s ranch in the White Mountains of Arizona, Gastineau lacked confidence. Other kids bullied him.

In 2019, Gastineau told the New York Post he had been repeatedly raped as a child, starting when he was 11, by a worker on the ranch. Terrified for his family’s safety, he explained to the Post, he had repressed the memories for more than four decades.

Gastineau repressed nothing else. Everything was a plea for acknowledgment. He was labeled an attention seeker. Really, he was an attention needer.

He performed his first sack dance at Round Valley High School in Arizona, then began a college experience that settled at East Central Oklahoma, an NAIA school. He had 27 sacks there and danced plenty.

Speed was his gift, so he worked to enhance it by running downhill in his driveway over and over in an early adaptation of overspeed training. When an NFL scout timed him in the 40-yard dash, Gastineau ran 4.6 seconds at 265 pounds. In disbelief, the scout told him to do it again. After another 4.6, the scout said his watch must have been off. He tried another, and Gastineau ran a 4.59.

Jets coaches were in charge of the North team at the 1979 Senior Bowl and needed a last-minute replacement player. New York’s Connie Carberg, the NFL’s first female scout, researched the possibilities. She phoned Gastineau to feel him out and was impressed by his determination and enthusiasm, so she recommended him.

His performance was so impressive that he was voted the most outstanding defensive lineman on the North team, and the Jets drafted him in the second round.

Gastineau rushed the passer like fire on a trail of gasoline.

“Dominant is the first word that comes to your mind,” fellow Jets defensive lineman Joe Klecko says. “In his best days as a pass rusher, I don’t think there was any better.”

Weighing as much as 290 pounds, Gastineau bench-pressed 400 and squatted 600. With the hunting instincts of a big cat — and an edge from the steroids he admits to taking — Gastineau went after quarterbacks with bloodlust.

“If the quarterback got up, I didn’t do my job,” Gastineau says.

In his third season in 1981, he had 20 sacks, one-half less than the league-leading Klecko. When the NFL made sacks an official statistic two years later, Gastineau’s 19 topped the league. Fans started calling the Jets’ D-line of Gastineau, Klecko, Marty Lyons and Abdul Salaam “The New York Sack Exchange.” Team publicist Frank Ramos used it in press releases.

After sacks, Gastineau celebrated by pumping his arms, jumping and punching a fist to the sky. “I’d just go nuts,” he says.

Happy birthday to our favorite sack dancer, Mark Gastineau!! pic.twitter.com/aQo5pvwLtg

— New York Jets (@nyjets) November 20, 2019

“He was like a young colt, full of energy, enthusiasm and passion,” Carberg says.

“I’d have to believe that Mark singlehandedly made the sack a glamorous play and made the NFL start keeping the sack as a meaningful statistic,” Jets coach Joe Walton once said. “He brought attention to it like no one before.”

The look-at-me wasn’t always well received, however. In 1983, Rams offensive tackle Jackie Slater took offense and went after Gastineau, precipitating a melee that saw 37 players fined.

It was the first of two brawls that week for Gastineau. Early one morning at Studio 54, the New York nightclub where celebrities and trouble always could be found, noses were broken and arrests made. Gastineau was convicted of misdemeanor assault and sentenced to 90 days of community service.

Klecko, the throwback, and Gastineau, the throwforward, were a fierce tandem on the field but an uncomfortable one away from it. “I didn’t like what he was doing at all,” says Klecko, the leader of the defense. “But he liked that spotlight.”

At one point, Klecko led Gastineau into trainer Bob Reese’s office. He closed the door and locked it. Then he pounded his thick index finger into Gastineau’s shaved chest.

“Your sack dance is killing us,” he told him. “You have to cut this s— out.”

The point was made.

“I was definitely afraid of Klecko,” he says. “He was two years above me, strong as an ox and knew how to intimidate.”

It wasn’t just the sack celebrations that created rifts. The reviews on Gastineau’s run defense were mixed. His relentlessness and ability to penetrate often resulted in running backs being dropped in the backfield, but on other plays, his gap assignment looked like a wide-open highway.

“Mark worried about the statistics more than I or anybody else did,” Klecko says. “He always wanted to get to the quarterback right away, so we used to have to make coverups on the run.”

An opportunity arose for a New York Sack Exchange poster, but Gastineau’s agent tried to make it a Gastineau poster. Eventually, after hard feelings, he was talked into posing with the others.

When teammates took issue with how he drew attention to himself, Gastineau purposely drew more, wearing a mink coat and driving a Rolls-Royce, a Ferrari and a Lamborghini. “Just to get back at them and piss them off,” he says.

Walton, however, told Klecko to go easy on Gastineau. The coach acknowledged having two sets of rules — one for the rest of the players and one for Gastineau. He was the only one allowed to use the telephone in the trainer’s room. If he was late for meetings — and he often was — no one was to say anything. Gastineau’s father, Ernie, ran the 40-yard dash with players.

“That team was full of cliques and petty jealousies,” says then-Jets wide receiver Wesley Walker, who recalls one teammate spitting a wad of chewing tobacco in Gastineau’s soda cup when he wasn’t looking.

Walker didn’t have a problem with the sack dances — “Those are things I enjoyed,” he said. “He didn’t do it in a malicious way. He created something. A lot of guys do that now.” But before the 1984 season, the NFL passed a rule that said players who participated in prolonged, excessive or premeditated celebrations would be penalized 15 yards. It was referred to as “The Gastineau Rule.”

Despite his production, Gastineau’s New York Sack Exchange teammates Joe Klecko (center) and Marty Lyons (right) had little love for him while he was playing. (Focus on Sport / Getty Images)

With 22 sacks that year, Gastineau set a record that stood for 17 seasons. “I just remember him bringing it every play,” says Hall of Fame Houston Oilers offensive lineman Bruce Matthews, whom Gastineau beat for one of those sacks.

The sacks won him fans but not friends. Teammates voted running back Freeman McNeil most valuable player on the Jets after he rushed for 1,070 yards — 13th-most in the NFL. At the Pro Bowl that season, one of five he played in, Gastineau had four sacks and two forced fumbles on the way to being named MVP. Then Klecko swiped Gastineau’s helmet and gave it to Raiders Pro Bowler Howie Long as a souvenir.

In a 1986 divisional-round playoff against the Browns, Gastineau was determined to knock quarterback Bernie Kosar out of the game. In the fourth quarter, Gastineau hit him with such fury and force that he popped three teeth from his mouth.

The hit was gratifying but only momentarily. It was third-and-24, and Gastineau was assessed a roughing-the-passer penalty that kept alive a touchdown drive that enabled Kosar and the Browns to win in double overtime. Gastineau’s teammates refused to speak to him afterward.

When players went on strike the following summer, Gastineau crossed the picket line, saying he needed the money to pay his estranged wife. As he was entering the Jets facility, teammates spit on his car. He got out of the car swinging.

While he was still married to his first wife, Gastineau began seeing Brigitte Nielsen, the 6-foot-1 Danish model known for her roles in “Red Sonja” and “Rocky IV” fresh off relationships with Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Nielsen had her people get in touch with his people after she saw him in a televised interview wearing nothing but a towel. They became the Taylor and Travis of their day. “People” magazine featured them on the cover, calling them “a pair of humongous lovebirds … unable to keep their hands or lips off each other.”

Through the first seven games of the 1988 season, Gastineau seemed revitalized. He was selected to serve as a game captain for the first time in his career, drew praise from teammates and was leading the AFC in sacks. He attributed his success to his happiness with Nielsen. But the relationship eventually became a wedge between him and the Jets.

Walker walked into an elevator at the team hotel and saw the two of them, expecting an introduction, but Gastineau never looked up, never said a word.

“I loved Mark and all my teammates,” Walker says. “But I think he did things that didn’t give a good indication of the type of person he really was. He got to be such a superstar that he kind of elevated himself over everybody.”

On Oct. 21, 18 days after Gastineau had three sacks in a game against the Chiefs, the 31-year-old stunned his team by announcing his retirement, citing Nielsen’s ovarian cancer diagnosis that was later discovered to be a precancerous condition.

After quitting football, Gastineau and Nielsen had each other’s names tattooed on their derrieres and partied from New York to Denmark to Scottsdale to Los Angeles. They broke up. She accused him of hitting her. They got back together. She got pregnant. Wherever they went, they saw spots from photo flashes. Gastineau says his drinking became a demon. It would be evident many times in the next dozen years or so.

After a tumultuous couple of years, Gastineau and Nielsen split for good in 1990. There was a comeback attempt in the Canadian Football League that lasted just four games, then a short-lived reincarnation as a boxer, where some of Gastineau’s opponents admitted throwing fights. He faced drug charges in 1993 after being arrested with 200 amphetamine pills at Sky Harbor International Airport in Phoenix and was eventually sentenced to three years of probation.

Multiple women accused Gastineau of domestic abuse, including Nielsen and his second wife. He denies those allegations. In 1998, he was charged with misdemeanor assault, menacing and criminal possession of a weapon against his then-girlfriend, who became his second wife shortly thereafter (a year later, he was arrested for violating a protection order she obtained against him).

Gastineau pled guilty and was sentenced to undergo counseling. He failed to show up and was sentenced to serve weekends in jail. When he skipped a weekend, he was ordered to spend one year at a residential treatment center in the Bronx. He says his attorney wrongly advised him that he could leave the state. When he did, he was arrested and sentenced to 18 months in prison.

At Rikers Island, the Bronx jail known for violence, abuse and squalor, he says inmates tried to intimidate him and shake him down for money. “Sometimes it was really, really, really scary,” he says. One day a Jets game came on the prison television. And he saw a player wearing No. 99 — his number. “How did I get here?” he asked himself.

This was the bottom. Right where he was supposed to be.

Gastineau has found peace at home with Jo Ann and Gracie. (Dan Pompei / The Athletic)

After 11 months, Gastineau was released from Rikers. When he had been in the residential drug treatment program, he met congregants of Times Square Church who invited him to attend a service there.

Whenever Gastineau met people at the church, he introduced himself by saying, “Mark Gastineau, New York Jets.” He saw himself as who he had been, not who he could be, and this made him wonder if God — or anyone else — could love him. He met with Pastor David Wilkerson, who founded the nondenominational church. “You are not Mark Gastineau anymore,” Wilkerson told him. “You are now a child of God.”

In 2005, he met a realtor who didn’t know anything about him. “Wait until you read about me,” he told her. “I’m not in the Hall of Fame. I’m in the hall of shame.”

She read about him and then came to believe he wasn’t Mark Gastineau anymore. “I went by how he treated me,” says Jo Ann Gastineau, who became his third wife in 2007.

Mark led Jo Ann to Times Square Church, which was just what she needed. And she was just what he needed. They volunteered to scrub the church’s public toilets and joined the choir. For a weekly rehearsal, they drove from New Jersey, which sometimes took hours. They took the drive again on Sundays to perform at three services — 10 a.m., 3 p.m. and 6 p.m.

“He couldn’t sing that well, so we put him in the top row,” pastor Carter Conlon says. “He said he thought it was because he was tall. But it was because the top row was the farthest from the microphone.

“I didn’t know anything about sports, but the sports fans couldn’t believe the same Mark Gastineau who played for the New York Jets was wearing a robe, clapping his hands, crying and singing.”

But Gastineau was still struggling with something — he couldn’t forgive Klecko. Conlon told him unforgiveness would hurt him more than Klecko and implored him to let it go. The former teammates were together for an appearance in 2020 in New Jersey, shortly after Klecko had shoulder surgery. Gastineau suggested they pray for healing. Klecko was deeply appreciative.

“I was a young kid,” Klecko says now. “If I could go back, I probably would have been more accepting of his way and tried to talk to him more about it. Once the game is set aside, you have a different life. There is no confrontation between us anymore. I wish him all the best.”

These days, whenever they see each other, Gastineau asks about Klecko’s family, and that means everything to Klecko.

“I shouldn’t have done the things that I did,” Gastineau says. “The playboy attitude I had basically brought me into an atmosphere that was really wrong.”

He was once the highest-paid defensive lineman in the NFL, and players around the league envied “Gastineau money.” But during his cancer ordeal, money was tight. A GoFundMe effort helped. His old teammate Lyons organized a fundraiser, and some powerful people stepped up anonymously.

Gastineau gets by now. Paychecks from appearances help. He established a scholarship fund through Times Square Church that benefits at-risk youth with “passionate desire to serve Jesus through sports or music-related ministries.”

Gastineau finished his career with 107 1/2 sacks — 0.78 sacks per game played. The only players with a better sacks-per-game rate in history are T.J. Watt, Deacon Jones, Myles Garrett and Reggie White. Sports Illustrated’s Paul Zimmerman once ranked him history’s seventh-greatest pass rusher. Yet with his complicated legacy, Gastineau has never been a semifinalist for the Pro Football Hall of Fame.

“To me, he is equally deserving as Joe Klecko for the Hall of Fame,” Matthews says. “When you were preparing to play the Jets, you highlighted him, and he still produced. I think that’s the epitome of a Hall of Fame player.”

When Klecko was inducted into the Hall of Fame last year, Gastineau attended. Klecko once said it would be an injustice if Gastineau was inducted. He thinks differently now, saying he would vote for him.

Being a Hall of Famer would be nice. But Gastineau doesn’t need a gold jacket. He doesn’t need to be noticed anymore.

“I have a wonderful life, a wonderful wife and this little dog,” he says, looking down at Gracie, their Golden Retriever who won’t stop giving affection. “They both love me, and that’s everything I need, you know?”

(Illustration: Sean Reilly / The Athletic; photos: Focus on Sport, Rick Stewart /Getty Images, Dan Pompei / The Athletic)

BOSTON — Liam Hendriks had his pants down as he spoke. His undershorts were on, but his uniform was down to his knees. He’d just thrown his first bullpen of the year last Wednesday, a momentous step forward for any pitcher returning from Tommy John surgery. Yet he stood in the Boston Red Sox clubhouse refusing to treat the occasion as serious, or even notable.

How did his arm feel?

“Attached,” he said.

Was there some added adrenaline getting on a mound?

“Not really,” he answered.

What stood out about the rehab process?

“How boring it is,” Hendriks deadpanned.

None of this came across as dismissive. It was played for laughs, a break from the monotony for Hendriks, his teammates, and even the gathered reporters. He was speaking to a full scrum with TV cameras and microphones, all because of a 15-pitch bullpen three hours before game time. Give Hendriks credit for not rolling his eyes. He didn’t travel from Australia, through years of baseball obscurity and rounds of cancer treatment to celebrate a few pregame fastballs in the bullpen.

“I don’t know whether the trainers love me or want to kill me,” Hendriks said. “Every day is a struggle telling them to let me do more and having them try to hold me back into a normal stratosphere.

“Which sucks.”

He’s longing for moments of greater consequence and is confident they’re coming.

There are numbers to help tell every baseball story and Hendriks’ career is told through his three All-Star Games, two Reliever of the Year awards, and 116 career saves. His backstory is chronicled through the 14 teams and six major-league organizations that saw him come and go before anyone trusted him with the ninth inning. He’s the one and only graduate of Australia’s Sacred Heart College to ever play in the majors, and he was designated for assignment four times and traded three more before most people had ever heard of him. Yet, here he is, a survivor in more ways than one.

Hendriks’ past 20 months have been all about four rounds of chemotherapy, a six-game rehab assignment in the minors weeks later, and his emotional big-league return last May. He had four good outings in June before season-ending Tommy John surgery in August and then entered free agency.

“Theoretically, I’ve got a new elbow,” Hendriks said this spring. “So, I’ve got another 10 (years) in me.”

Now 35 years old, Hendriks is hellbent on proving himself yet again. He signed a two-year deal with the Red Sox, in part, because they promised him two things: They believed he could pitch this season, and they wanted him to spend most of his rehab process with the big-league team. So, that’s what Hendriks has been doing. On the road, at home, throughout spring training. He hasn’t been rehabbing at some fancy, far-flung facility; he’s been throwing on the field, sitting at his corner locker, and making jokes on the bullpen bench. Cancer treatment kept him away from people for far too long last year. But he does not wallow. He does not question.

GO DEEPER

Inside the Red Sox trainer’s room with Lucas Giolito and Liam Hendriks

“I’ve never been a big ‘why me’ person,” Hendriks said. “I think it was inevitable that I was going to have something to do with my elbow. Unfortunately, it was in the same year that I dealt with a lot of other things, but it is what it is. There’s nothing I can do to change it. All I can do is show up to the park every day with a positive attitude and hopefully rub off on some of the younger guys here.”

When Hendriks reported to Red Sox camp, he’d been given a target of 64 mph, as in, a pitcher who typically throws a 95-mph fastball should be throwing roughly 64 mph when he’s seven months out from Tommy John surgery. In his early days of spring training, though — “My surgeon is probably not going to be happy about this,” Hendriks said — he was throwing in the mid-70s.

“Not consistently!” Hendriks clarified. “Consistently low 70s. But it’s still, the jump from where I was the time before that was a little too high. … A couple of times I was a little too strong in the paint. But I prefer to go too far than not do enough.”

Such is the Liam Hendriks Experience. Numbers don’t do justice to what he brings on the mound and off the field. He is a vein-bulging, obscenity-screaming, trash-talking wildman, but also a Lego-building, caregiving, joke-making teddy bear.

Within those extremes, a cancer diagnosis in December of 2022 was a shock. Stage 4 non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Doctors told Hendriks to expect six rounds of chemotherapy. He’s proud of the fact he needed only four. He can’t remember the exact date his last round started, only that it was the Chicago White Sox’s home opener, and he was supposed to be in their bullpen, not in some hospital. He had a bone marrow biopsy at the end of April and began a rehab assignment the first week of May.

His elbow lasted a little more than a month after that.

The truth is, Hendriks knew his elbow was in trouble long before it popped. He’d first learned of a small tear in his UCL in 2008. He’d pitched for more than a decade without snapping it, but as he ramped up in his return following cancer treatment — after a full six months off — he could tell it wasn’t right.

“He didn’t care,” former White Sox teammate and current Red Sox teammate Lucas Giolito said. “A lot of guys would be like, ‘Oh, this hurts,’ and in the training room or whatever. He was like, ‘I’m just going to go until it breaks.’”

Was there ever any thought of protecting it after going through so much to get back on the mound and a club option looming?

“No. F— no,” Hendriks said. “I don’t baby it.”

Hendriks said he’s come to believe he’s most susceptible to injury when he holds back.

“The elbow was gone no matter what,” he said. “So, I’m not sitting there to try to rehab another six weeks potentially and not come back. If it goes, it goes. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. I was pretty sure it was already done, but I was holding out hope that it was maybe a little (bit) of scar tissue, and if that snaps off at the right time, I’ll be fine. It wasn’t that.”

This offseason, the White Sox declined a $15 million club option, making Hendriks a free agent. It’s not unusual for pitchers recovering from Tommy John surgery to sign two-year deals with an eye toward truly contributing in that second year. When Hendriks talked to interested teams this winter, though, he clarified that it wasn’t a 2025 negotiation.

“We made it very abundantly clear that if you’re coming in with that attitude, it’s a no-go,” Hendriks said. “There were some teams that reached out and just faded away straight from there.”

Hendriks expects to be pitching for the Red Sox this August. He signed a two-year deal that guarantees him $10 million but includes a $12 million mutual option for 2026. By the time he signed, Hendriks had begun playing catch with his physical therapist, and Hendriks said he was less worried about his elbow and more worried about spiking a throw to a non-baseball player. But Hendriks hit his partner in the chest, and the instant feedback was that Hendriks wasn’t “muscly,” meaning he was staying loose and not getting tense. The motion was as natural as ever.

When Hendriks talks about limits, he talks only about breaking them. From Australia to the All-Star Game. From being on waivers to signing long-term contracts. From Stage 4 cancer to a faster-than-expected recovery. From Tommy John surgery to having too much oomph on his fastball in spring training. Now a 15-pitch bullpen and a tongue-in-cheek miniature press conference.

Does the light at the end of a Tommy John tunnel look different than the light at the end of a cancer tunnel?

“Ehh, in my mind, it’s the same,” Hendriks said in spring training. “There’s still an end goal. There’s still a goal that I need to get back from. It’s just a little bit more of a slow-moving process.”

Hendriks doesn’t have a sit-back-and-wait personality, and he’s had to do exactly that for much of the past year and a half. He’s wired to pitch the ninth. Check with him again when that finally happens.

“It’s not that (rehab) is long. I can handle long,” Hendriks said. “I can’t handle slow. And it’s the slowness that’s really pissing me off.”

(Top photo of Hendriks in May 2024: Maddie Malhotra / Boston Red Sox/Getty Images)

For a second, Cristiano Ronaldo looked like he might be on the edge of tears. Then suddenly, no, he was over the edge. The floodgates had opened and he was bawling now. In front of a capacity crowd in Frankfurt and a huge global television audience, arguably the most famous athlete on the planet was in floods of tears.

And there was still a game to be won, a place in the Euro 2024 quarter-finals to be secured.

It was astonishing to witness. The Portugal captain had endured another frustrating evening, still chasing his first goal of the tournament, and now, having been given the chance to break Slovenia’s resistance, he had seen a penalty saved brilliantly by goalkeeper Jan Oblak. The tension and anguish that had been building inside him suddenly boiled over.

Ronaldo had missed penalties before, sometimes in highly pressurised circumstances. He had cried on the pitch before: tears of sadness, tears of joy. But this was different because the game wasn’t finished. At 39, playing in what he admits will be his final European Championship, he was crying not for a lost match but, it seemed, for the waning of his powers. They resembled the tears of a matinee idol who realises he is facing his final curtain.

For once he looked so vulnerable, so fallible, so… human. As Portugal’s players formed a huddle during half-time in extra time, they looked up and saw what looked like a broken man. One by one, they tried to raise him. His former Manchester United team-mates Bruno Fernandes and Diogo Dalot grabbed him, as if to remind him who he was — who he still is. Fulham midfielder Joao Palhinha and Manchester City defender Ruben Dias did similar.

It was remarkable that Portugal coach Roberto Martinez kept him out there in the circumstances. Ronaldo looked done. He barely touched the ball for the remainder of extra time as Slovenia, for the first time all evening, began to look the more likely to snatch victory.

It went down to a penalty shootout. What if Ronaldo missed again?

He didn’t. This time, he slammed his shot to the other side, Oblak’s right, and looked immensely relieved when the net bulged. That took courage, but there was no bravado in his reaction. It wasn’t the time for his trademark celebration. Instead, his clasped his hands to the Portugal supporters in apology.

Within three minutes, Portugal’s players and supporters were celebrating victory. Their goalkeeper Diogo Costa was the hero, saving all three of Slovenia’s kicks while Ronaldo, Bruno Fernandes and Bernardo Silva converted theirs. It was an extraordinary performance from Costa, who had also made a vital save to deny Slovenia forward Benjamin Sesko late in extra time. Ronaldo, overcome with relief, embraced and thanked him.

“There was initial sadness — and joy at the end,” the five-time Ballon d’Or winner told Portuguese TV station RTP afterwards. “That’s what football brings: inexplicable moments from the eighth (minute) to the 80th. That’s what happened today. Did I have the opportunity to give the team the lead? I couldn’t do it.”

Ronaldo apologetically celebrates scoring in the shootout (Justin Setterfield/Getty Images)

He referred to his penalty record over the course of the season — “I didn’t fail once” — but he must know deep down that it is more than his penalty-taking that is under scrutiny at Euro 2024. Excluding the penalty shootout (as the record books always do), he is yet to score in his four appearances at the tournament. Other than a penalty against Ghana in Portugal’s opening game of the 2022 World Cup, he has now gone eight appearances without scoring in a major tournament.

Ronaldo scored 50 goals in 51 appearances in all competitions for Al Nassr last season. He has also scored 10 goals in nine appearances in the Euro 2024 qualifying campaign, but half of those came against Luxembourg and Liechtenstein. He is the record international goalscorer in men’s football, with a faintly preposterous record of 130 goals in 211 appearances — but the highest-ranked teams he has scored against in the past three years are Switzerland (19th), Qatar (35th), Slovakia (45th) and the Republic of Ireland (60th).

Yet he takes so many shots. So many shots — a total of 20 so far at this tournament, which is at least seven more than any other player. So many promising attacks and dangerous free kicks are sacrificed at the altar of self-indulgence. There was one free kick against Slovenia where, even in a stadium full of die-hard Ronaldo fans, he must have been the only person who thought he was going to score. Sure enough, his shot sailed way beyond the far post.

Then there are the shots he isn’t able to take because, as formidable as his physique might still appear, his acceleration, speed and power are no longer quite what they were. There was a point in the first half where Bernardo Silva drifted infield from the right wing and produced what looked the most delightful cross towards him at the far post. Ronaldo leapt but couldn’t reach it and, not for the first time at this tournament, you were left thinking he would have buried a chance like that in his prime.

But his prime was a long time ago now. Longer ago than he perhaps cares to imagine. He won the last of his Ballons d’Or in 2017 and, even by that stage, aged 32, he had become a far more economical player than the unstoppable, irrepressible force of his mid-to-late 20s.

Ronaldo beats Jan Oblak from the spot in the shootout (Harriet Lander – UEFA/UEFA via Getty Images)

Some will suggest this is a tournament too far for him, but similar was said at the World Cup in Qatar 18 months ago, where he made little impact and ended up losing his place to Goncalo Ramos. It now feels like two tournaments too far — or two tournaments in which Ronaldo might be better utilised as an option, perhaps coming off the bench at times, trading places with Ramos or Diogo Jota, rather than as the fixed point around which all else must revolve.

It was almost surprising to hear Ronaldo describe this, in the post-match mixed zone, as his last European Championship. “But I’m not emotional about that,” he said. “I’m moved by all that football means — by the enthusiasm I have for the game, the enthusiasm for seeing my supporters, my family, the affection people have for me.

“It’s not about leaving the world of football. What else is there for me to do or win? It’s not going to come down to one point more or one point less. Making people happy is what motivates me the most.”

What else is there for him to do or win? That didn’t sound like Ronaldo, particularly given the scenes we had witnessed earlier in the evening. He is right, of course — his legacy and place among the game’s immortals was secured long ago — but his reaction to that missed penalty was not that of someone who feels immune to the pressures of proving himself over and over and over again.

“He’s an example for us,” Martinez said afterwards. “Those emotions (after missing the penalty) were incredible. He doesn’t need to care that much after the career he has had and everything he has achieved. After missing the penalty, he was the first penalty-taker (in the shootout). I was certain he had to be first and show us the way to victory. The way he reacted is an example and we’re very proud.”

Lovely words, but Martinez has a big decision to make before Portugal’s quarter-final against France in Hamburg on Friday.

There have been many times over the years when Ronaldo has been the player to drag a team back from the brink, but on Monday night he looked beaten not just by Oblak’s penalty save but by the one opponent that catches up with every athlete in the end: time.

GO DEEPER

The cult of Cristiano Ronaldo

(Top photo: Alex Grimm/Getty Images)